


a touch of stupidity and blind luck

by fthh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (slow burn in quote marks), F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fluff, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fthh/pseuds/fthh
Summary: The warmth of the arm wrapped around her torso isn’t necessarily foreign, or unwelcome, but the throbbing in her head is definitely both of those things.In other situations where her head is pounding a little less, perhaps she would have the faculty to wonder why on earth she let herself drink as much as she did last night.(accidental marriage au that nobody asked for)
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

The warmth of the arm wrapped around her torso isn’t necessarily foreign, or unwelcome, but the throbbing in her head is definitely both of those things.

In other situations where her head is pounding a little less, perhaps she would have the faculty to wonder why on earth she let herself drink as much as she did last night.

But for now—

She tries to shift to lie on her back, but the grip around her is strong enough to prevent any movement. There’s only one person she knows that likes to cuddle with a death grip.

Mercedes—

She has a habit of clinging onto her like a koala whenever they sleep in the same bed, which Ingrid finds endearing.

Waking up next to the older woman is nothing out of the ordinary: many of their tea-times run so late into the night that Mercedes insists she stay over, even if Ingrid’s room is only a short walk upstairs.

“Mercie. Mercie,” Ingrid calls out, patting on Mercedes’ hand laying atop her stomach.

There’s a cute little “mm,” coming from the gremory that would send Ingrid’s heart into a wild sprint across the empire had her brain not threatened to split her skull in two.

“Need water,” Ingrid grumbles, and Mercedes loosens her grip a little. Ingrid sees it then: a bold line circling around the base of Mercedes’ finger, much like a ring. It’s crude and in a shade of royal purple she remembers Bernadetta saying she’d gotten for her new bottle of ink.

Well. Weirder things have happened, she thinks when she realises her own finger mirroring that of Mercedes.

“Take the green potion on the nightstand,” Mercedes grumbles, pulling her comforter up towards her eyes, shielding herself from the sun, marching farther and farther up the sky.

“Thanks.”

She leaves Mercedes in her room — she can get cranky if she doesn’t get enough sleep after a late night out. She thinks she’ll get some breakfast in bed for her friend.

“Hey, Ingrid, how’s everything?” Dorothea sets her own breakfast across from her, and she says it with a teasing wink. (Most of their interactions consist of Dorothea teasing her, but there seems to be something different about today.)

(Ingrid moves to conceal her left hand. She couldn’t fully wash the ink off her finger. She remembers Bernadetta specifically telling her that it’s waterproof.)

Ingrid squints at her friend, wary. The sun seems to be putting in double effort today. “I am having the headache of two lifetimes,” she says through gritted teeth. Her sweet bun trio lies untouched on her plate.

“Aww,” Dorothea coos, and Ingrid has half a mind to hit her, but. She’s a gentlewoman. It does not have  _ anything _ to do with her head threatening to blow up if she so much as raises an eyebrow at her friend, infuriating as she is today.

“Well, I mean, you  _ did _ manage to outdrink Shamir last night. Congrats on beating her record, by the way.”

Ingrid deflates even more, if that’s at all possible. “I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I?”

Dorothea immediately slaps a hand to her own mouth to stop herself from making the biggest noise in the dining hall that morning. She has an image to uphold, after all. “On the contrary, my dear Ingrid, I think you did the smartest thing in your life, for once.”

There it is again. There’s a flash of her and Mercedes going to the tavern to join the girls last night, but after that her memory draws a blank. It’s both frustrating and maybe a little relieving. Perhaps her brain is trying to save her from embarrassment.

Dorothea winks, again, when Ingrid asks her what exactly happened. The vein on her forehead is going to pop soon if Dorothea doesn’t give her a straight answer, but the brunette has always had a playful streak to her, even during their academy days. Ingrid sighs. They’ve been in each other’s lives for over five years now — she should know better than to expect anything but trouble from one of her best friends.

“Is it anything to do with this?” Ingrid asks weakly, bringing up her crudely inked hand.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” Dorothea laughs and stands up with her plate in her hands. “That’s enough fun for today, I think.”

“That’s right, when you see your girlfriend it’s goodbye Ingrid, isn’t it?” Ingrid  _ tries _ to half-yell, but it seems her voice has mostly left her.

What a day this is going to be.

.

It’s a rest day, thankfully. It’s a little after eleven when Ingrid brings breakfast to her — a sweet bun trio and a little orange juice.

“Good morning,” Mercedes greets her, sitting up in bed as she takes the tray in her lap. “Thank you.” Her small voice is raspy, rough still from the inertia of sleep evident in her posture.

They sit in a silence that isn’t entirely uncomfortable.

“So, hey,” Ingrid starts. “If I said or did anything embarrassing last night, I sincerely apologise.”

Mercedes pauses her movement, one sweet bun halfway to her mouth. “Oh? You don’t remember?”

“Nothing after my third beer, unfortunately.”

“You  _ did  _ drink a lot more than usual last night…”

“Say, Mercie… we didn’t… did we?” Ingrid is very pointedly looking anywhere but her. Her face and red are all red now.

“Do anything untoward?” Mercedes asks teasingly. Ingrid huffs. Her friends seem to be plotting against her today. “No, we didn’t.”

(In Ingrid’s defence, getting shit-faced drunk and sleeping together — not in the literal sense — has happened at least once before, so she thinks it’s only fair that she asks.)

“I don’t remember much of last night, myself. I think I passed out right after you did.”

“ _ Huh. _ ”

.

The rest of her day goes smoothly save for a few incidents. When Ingrid is tending to her pegasus, Ferdinand comes up to her with a large grin on his face with congratulations on his lips. He is so sincere Ingrid bites her tongue before she can tell him she has no idea what in the hell he’s talking about. She lets out a small “thank you” instead.

Ingrid’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets when Bernadetta passes her a small succulent plant into her hands that afternoon. “Congratulations,” she’d said, “I’m sure you’re moving in together soon.” She runs in the opposite direction before Ingrid can ask  _ who _ .

.

Ingrid and Mercedes join Dorothea, Petra, and Edelgard at dinnertime that evening, although Ingrid slams her tray down on the table with the grace of a madwoman. The noisy  _ clank  _ disrupts the hustle and bustle of the hall — multiple pairs of eyes look at their general vicinity before they go back to their own business.

“Can someone  _ please _ tell us what happened last night?” Ingrid asks, harried. Mercedes puts a hand on the crook of her elbow, and Dorothea does not miss the way Ingrid’s expression immediately softens. She throws a knowing look Petra’s way.

“I would like to know why Ferdinand came up to me and congratulated me on the beginning of a new chapter in my life,” Mercedes chimes in.

“Congratulations on your wedding.” Edelgard says it so sincerely Ingrid mentally puts down her name on her OK list. However—

“Wedding?” Mercedes asks.

“Yes, you two are wives now! You married last night at the tavern. Mercedes, you were officiating it yourself,” Petra explains.

Mercedes turns to Ingrid. “I’m sorry, Ingrid, this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t drink so much last night.”

“Ingrid was the one who proposed! You were asking Bernie to draw your rings for you.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

So it  _ was _ her fault.

There’s a silence in their little bubble as the two in question took in the information.

“And is it… valid?” Ingrid asks.

“Well, since Mercedes  _ is _ a gremory, and you had at least three witnesses, it’s legally binding, I’m afraid. You can get divorced if you want to, though,” Edelgard explains.

“Since our conversation, the other day, I thought… if I were ever to get married… I’d be glad it was you.”

(Ingrid’s finger is still stained purple. Maybe being married isn’t so bad after all.)

“But if you want to, we could get that divorce, maybe, if we have free time.”


	2. Chapter 2

The scent of Mercedes’ chocolate chip cookies wafts over before she’s in Ingrid’s sight. “How’s my wife doing?” Mercedes asks playfully.

“Me?” Ingrid points to herself.

“Yes, dummy, did you forget we got married?”

(How could she? It’s been on her mind all week. The purple stains have been mocking her every time she catches a glimpse of it. It’s only this morning that they’ve finally disappeared.)

She counts to three to compose herself, and then— “Well, I’m doing great now that you’re here. How are you?”

.

After everything, their lives don’t change much, if at all. They train as usual under the professor’s guidance; they have weekly get-togethers at the tavern (although now Ingrid watches her rate); they have their usual tea-times. The only difference is this time when she stays past midnight she doesn’t even bother  _ pretending  _ to go back to her room. Mercedes always gets an extra pillow ready, rearranges her bed before Ingrid even comes knocking.

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t let you stay over?”

(Ingrid can count the steps leading to her room. It takes less than a minute to get there from Mercedes’ room. They don’t talk about this.)

Ingrid doesn’t want to point out that this was the result of a very drunken incident. She doesn’t want to break some sort of silent agreement between them to not acknowledge this.

_ This. _ Their marriage (the word still feels foreign on the tip of her tongue, but she feels so at home saying it.)

She doesn’t want to talk about the fact that the only reason they’re not divorced ( _ yet _ ) is because they haven’t had time to actually bring it up in Edelgard’s court. They’re in the middle of a war, after all, Ingrid reasons.

(In the corner, Bernadetta’s little succulent gift — that they’ve named Teddy — watches them fumble.)

.

As with much of the teasing, it starts with Dorothea.

“Hey, have you seen—”

“Your wife? She’s at the gardens picking out herbs with Lysithea,” Dorothea says with a wink. Ingrid would choke her out if the package weren’t urgent.

.

“Ingrid!” Ferdinand exclaims, flying in from the periphery of her vision. “You are injured, go to your wife.”

Ingrid wants to protest, but Ferdinand says it with the gravitas he reserves for the battlefield. When she moves her arm the arrow stuck to her shoulder moves a little, and the friction between the metal and her flesh makes her hiss in pain. She nudges her pegasus a little, and they fly away in retreat.

.

“You know,” Mercedes says late one night at one of their tea-times, “even Ashe has started calling you my wife.” She laughs behind her hand. “He said he was worried I’d be offended but it’s the truth isn’t it?”

Ingrid only nods, taking a small sip of her chamomile tea. (The Professor tells her it’s supposed to have calming effects, but her heart is beating wildly against her ribcage right now.)

“It is,” she agrees easily.

She wonders — since they’re wives now — if their frequent tea-times count as dates now. She doesn’t know which answer she wants.

She tucks the thought away for later.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a buzzing kind of sensation that accompanies Ingrid all day today. (It’s been there for over a week now, but it’s intense today. She wonders if it’s because the sun is brighter than usual.) The scent of Mercedes’ lavender perfume follows her and her heart does an intricate little dance when she catches a whiff of it, but — Mercedes is nowhere to be seen all day.

The only time they’d met each other today was this morning: Mercedes was returning her ribbons. (“You left them when you last slept over last week. I’ve washed them for you!” Her eyes are so shiny.)

She finds Mercedes, finally, at the kitchens in the middle of baking with Annette. She’s laughing at the redhead’s joke — they’ve both got a mess of flour on their cheeks. Their hands are dusted white, Mercedes leaning on a counter while Annette talks and prepares what looks to be icing.

It strikes her, then, how happy Mercedes is. She reaches for the small pouch in her coat pocket. It’s been distracting her all day, all week. Maybe even the month leading up to her three-day journey home to look for them.

But Mercedes is laughing so freely and— she feels she can never be the reason for that. How could she rob Mercedes of that? All she has to offer is herself and a meagre amount of fortune? What if that’s not enough? She knows Mercedes is a better person than that, she doesn’t care about material wealth, but the thought of not being able to financially provide for them bothers her endlessly.

Ingrid turns back around, walks in the rain back to her room.

“Ingrid?” Mercedes closes the door gently behind her, sits on the bed next to Ingrid. “Why didn’t you come say hello?”

Ingrid is silent as Mercedes gives her a once-over. She reaches in Ingrid’s cupboard for towels, drapes one over her shoulders and pressing another into her hair. Ingrid shivers, not entirely sure if it’s from the chilly air reaching her or from Mercedes’ warm touch against her skin.

(She knows the answer, of course.)

“Goodness, Ingrid, you’re sopping wet.”

Mercedes sits again next to her and Ingrid puts a hand over hers. Her blue eyes seem to effortlessly pierce through the walls she’s spent so many years building up. The rings grow heavier in her coat pocket, burning through the layers of her clothes straight to her bones.

It would be selfish, she thinks, to ask this of Mercedes. She deserves all the happiness in the world, and— the last time she loved someone it did not end well.

“So did you find whatever you were looking for back home?” Mercedes asks, trying to lighten up the mood. The air around them is still heavy with the silence Ingrid is putting out in the world. “We all missed you. I’ve missed you,” Mercedes adds softly.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to jump on her pegasus and fly for three days back home to ask for the rings from her father.  _ She’s special _ , she’d told him.  _ I think I could spend the rest of my life with her. _ Perhaps Ingrid should have confessed first and  _ then _ gone home, but she’s here now. Perhaps in another timeline she would’ve done just that. Perhaps in that timeline she’d be the person who can make Mercedes happy.

She’d had an epiphany, months and months ago. The result of that sudden realisation led her to drink  _ way _ above her usual rate, and here they are: married. Mercedes deserves better than someone who gets so inebriated they lose all their senses and propose in a tavern and makes their friend smear ink on their fingers.

“Mercie, do you think… it’s time for us to get that divorce?”

(Ingrid scoffs inwardly — she never thought she’d ever utter those words in that order.)

Mercedes furrows her eyebrows, hands now clutching against her chest, seemingly offended. “What brought this on?”

Ingrid looks away. The soft wind outside is howling now, rattling at her windows.

“I just think… I don’t want to interfere with your dating life, Mercie. I don’t think your next partner will be happy that you have a whole  _ wife _ .”

Mercedes heaves a deeply tired sigh. Ingrid’s whole body, tenses up, then, when she feels Mercedes’ gaze raking over her body, much like a lion about to make a move on its prey—

She leans closer, and Ingrid doesn’t want to misread the situation, so she stays frozen in place, eyes concentrating on Mercedes’ lips like a lifeline. Mercedes takes the leap for the both of them, presses her lips firmly onto Ingrid’s. She only realises what has happened when Mercedes pulls away and places the pouch in between them, empties its contents out onto her palm.

Ingrid’s shoulders feel so light, but the bricks weighing upon her lungs are still there. Her voice struggles to come out, and she looks like a fish out of water, mouth moving but not saying anything.

Two simple rings — both golden bands with an understated gem — sit unassumingly in Mercedes’ hand. Ingrid backs away in a sudden panic. “I can explain—”

Mercedes only smiles at her. There’s no trace of hostility whatsoever. (Mercedes just kissed her.  _ Kissed _ her. On the lips. She doesn’t know what to feel, what to think, what to do.) Mercedes slides one ring onto her finger, where the purple ink stain once was. She smiles at the way it fits perfectly. “You’ve always been easy to read,” she finally says, “I’d marry you a thousand times if I could.”

“Are you… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’ve been flirting for months, Ingrid. Annie and Lysithea have been teasing me about being obvious for months now.”

“Mercie, you deserve to be happy, and I—”

“And I  _ am _ happy, here, with you. You seem to forget that  _ I _ was the one officiating our wedding. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” Mercedes slides the other ring onto Ingrid’s finger, smiles at how the gem shines under the moonlight streaming through the curtains. “I know these are your rings, but— will you marry me again?”

In her excitement, Ingrid wraps her arms around Mercedes’ neck and jumps to kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her…

“Yes, I will!”

“Your clothes are still wet,” Mercedes reminds her with a small laugh, pushing her away a little.

Ingrid plants another kiss on her cheek before leaning back.

“I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some years later, after the war, their friends still like to tease them about it.

“Hey, Ingrid, remember when you realised you were in love with Mercie you got so overwhelmed you drank all the beer in the tavern?” Dorothea asks. Her ears are buzzing, her body tingling from her second glass of wine.

“And it still took you  _ months _ to actually get together!” Petra adds.

Mercedes takes Ingrid’s hand in hers. “It  _ is _ quite silly,” she remarks, “we got married before we started dating.”

“Yeah, you two really dragged your feet on that divorce, huh? All you had to do was sign a paper in front of Edie.” Dorothea is laughing now. Ingrid, meanwhile, is huffing in protest, but the sight of Mercedes playing along with the teasing is soothing to her. She lets it slide — this time.

“Yes, I remember losing a lot of gold that year,” Ferdinand chirps. He’s in a good mood today.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for betting on me confessing to Mercie on horseback,” Ingrid teases goodnaturedly. He laughs.

“In my defence, a confession on horseback is the best kind of confession.”

“Only you think that, Ferdie,” Dorothea looks at the tall and brooding man sitting next to him. (He sips on his coffee and looks away, unwilling to be pulled into the conversation.) She turns to Ingrid, then, smirking. “And it was always on Mercie to confess first.” She winks.

“I— you— shut up before I kill you!”

“Come on, sweetheart, we both know it’s true.” Mercedes leans over and kisses her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~as we all know ingrid is a BOTTOM~~
> 
> literally almost made ingrid say "shut the hell your mouth" because apparently im a basic bitch who speaks in mostly forgotten vines

**Author's Note:**

> i've worked on this for a few weeks since that twt thread i made would NOT leave my brain. I'm working on horny ingrid twitter au next i think
> 
> big thanks to [@yoctogram_](https://twitter.com/yoctogram_) for indulging my mercigrid thoughts lol
> 
> i'm [@clonebutt](https://twitter.com/clonebutt) on twt rn im obsessed with fe3h lesbians and also fountain pens


End file.
